


Problematic Ghosts

by crazylittleelf



Category: Fringe
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-26
Updated: 2009-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazylittleelf/pseuds/crazylittleelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's the jealous type.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Problematic Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink_bingo prompt: consent play.

Drinks with Peter had edged them closer to the inevitable, ended with eyes lingering too long, negotiating what they never put into words.  He walked her to her door, gentlemanly and she wished he'd knock that shit off, wish they'd both stop being such chicken shits and just get it over with already.  John growled at the suggestion.  The latest heated staring match ended with Peter quirking the corner of his mouth up in an almost-smile and leaving her standing on the steps to her townhouse.  She watched him round the corner, felt her heart pounding, tried to tune out John raging in the back of her mind.

She keyed her way into her home, muttered, "I never knew you were the jealous type."  She didn't really expect a response.  They tried to ignore each other most of the time but Peter brought out the worst in him.  He pressed her against the door as soon as she closed it behind her, her mind making him solid, tangible.  She yelped in surprise, clenched her eyes shut and worked on reminding herself that he wasn't real.  She could feel the hot gust of his breath along her jaw for a moment, feel the heat and weight of his body before the illusion broke.  She stared across dark room, leaned against the door until her breathing slowed, terror and arousal sparking through her system.  That she'd learned to dismiss him was salt in the wound of her dating Peter Bishop.

He snarled at her, tangling angry fingers through her thoughts and she resisted the urge to yell at him, to scream.  Instead she made her way to her bed, reminded him that it wasn't her fault he was dead and besides, he'd been a bastard anyway.  She shed her clothes and crawled under the fluffy comforter, pulled the blanket nearly over her head, but he was still there, dredging through memories that he played like film on the backs of her eyes and sent sensation skittering along her nerves.

"Go away."  She sounded sulky, tried to think about other things, about work, anything,  but he was good at finding places in her mind that were hard to ignore.  He offered up a particularly hot memory of them against back of her SUV and she whimpered into her pillow.  His thoughts licked along hers until she was squirming, fingers inching towards the waistband of her panties.  She clenched her hand into a fist and tucked it under her chin, muscles trembling as she tried to hold still and he tried to move her arm.  The Olivia in her memories yelped and arched her back; she shivered in her bed, closed her eyes and let the John-ghost guide her hand between her legs.  He pressed her fingers against her clit, rough, verging on pain and she rocked her hips in time with his movements.  She felt him laughing, a low sound that meant he was particularly pleased with himself and she gasped out a curse at him when she came.


End file.
